


And the Sword Came Down

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [18]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Bloody Mary's Reign, Hinted Morgan/Rossi, Historical AU, I'm Sorry, Penelope curses and it's great, Please Ignore All Historical Inaccurracies, Public Execution/Torture, Spencer speaks some fucking TRUTHS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: It is 1556 and Lord Spencer and Lady Penelope meet just before they are executed for their beliefs.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595023
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	And the Sword Came Down

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Bad Things Happen Bingo Square!!
> 
> Square: Public Execution/Torture

Penelope Garcia looked out of her cell window in the Tower of London and down onto Tower Green. From her position, she could see the platform with the beheading block and the executioner sharpening his sword. Just beyond that, she could see the citizens of London gathering in the pale morning light. 

Today, she was going to die. Today, she was going to be publicly executed- publicly  _ humiliated _ \- because she refused to sign the Queen’s edict and become Catholic. 

She couldn’t. She was a child of the forest, the daughter of druids who have been in her family for centuries. To become Catholic, to renounce the teachings of the Earth, is something that she simply would not do. To betray her true self would be a fate worse than death itself. 

She brushed her hands off on the simple gown that she was wearing and retreated to her desk in order to pen her last letter to her brother that will be sent out in the next day’s post. 

Today, her earthly body may die, but she will be returned to the Earth, and she will be reborn. 

She knew that. She believed that. 

Spencer Reid also looked out of the window of his cell in the Tower of London onto Tower Green, watching the preparations with a keen interest. He, too, was to be executed for refusing to sign the Queen’s edict and become a Catholic. Even as a child, he didn’t believe in the existence of God. Not since his father left him and his mother; not since he had to put his mother in an asylum for the insane at a young age and was made as, for all intents and purposes, an orphan; not since he witnessed his first execution at the tender age of seven. How could a God, any God but especially one purported to be so loving and forgiving, allow such cruelties to happen? Not to mention, how does one even know that God even  _ existed? _

That was his logic, at least. 

He was a scholar, studying to become a surgeon, interested in the sciences. God had no such place in such an area. Science explained to him the ways that the human body and, in all honesty, the universe works. He had published several articles that had gained the scorn of the Church, but he didn’t care. The truth and knowledge of such truth were the only things that mattered to him. 

He washed his face in the small bowl of water that was nearby and observed the disappointing growth on his chin and cheeks in the cool reflection of the water. He slipped on his shirt and sat down at the desk to write the finishing touches on his most recent and last paper concerning the “science” of bloodletting. 

_ My Dear Brother-  _

_ By the time that you receive this missive, I will be long gone and will have returned to our Mother Earth, joining our beloved parents’ sides.  _

_ I am just taking this opportunity before I am to be beheaded by the Queen’s executioner to tell you that while you should mourn my passing, that you should also celebrate my life, as we were taught to do. Remember how I lived, not how I died. The Queen has been more than gracious to grant my request to be buried without a coffin, so that I may return wholly to the Earth. There are such small mercies, I suppose.  _

_ I do not fault you for falling to the Queen’s edict, to preserve yourself and the family that you have created, unlike your spinster sister. Perhaps this is the calling that our elders have told me would be my fate, to die for the forest and all that it holds.  _

_ As for anything that I want you to do after I die and you receive this missive, since undoubtedly you have questions about that very matter, I want you to plant a tree in my name, next to Mother’s and Father’s. I know that you have sworn fealty unto our Queen, and have promised to be a Catholic for the rest of your natural life, but don’t forget our ways. The Old Ways, the ways of those who have gone before us. Hide everything, if you must, but never forget where you come from, who your true self is. Do not get lost in this new god and the new ways of worship. I implore of you to remember how life is supposed to be lived and to keep the passages of times with our holidays- through the solstices and equinoxes, through Imbolc and Samhain, and all of our celebrations in between. Most of all, do not forget me.  _

_ I’m not afraid to die. Mother and Father have instilled an acceptance of death into me. To die for my faith, to die for believing in myself and not betraying that faith and belief, is something to be proud of. Perhaps I am nervous as to what will happen to me afterwards, such as how long after my death my body will be returned to the Earth from whence it came, but I’m not afraid. I know that I will return. We all do.  _

_ I love you.  _

_ Yours even in Death-  _

_ Penelope.  _

_ But how does one know the difference between ‘good blood’ and ‘bad blood’? What science and evidence is there to substantiate that by cutting open the flesh to let out the ‘bad blood’ will help heal a person? Wouldn’t we also be letting out the ‘good blood’? Is that the sacrifice we must take in order to make someone healthy and whole again? I so happen to disagree with this ideology. There  _ _ must _ _ be another way to cleanse the blood rather than bloodletting. The leeches are a marginally better idea, but how do  _ _ we _ _ know that  _ _ they _ _ know what they’re sucking out? Are they sucking out ‘bad blood’ or ‘good blood’? What are the qualifications to make blood ‘bad’ or ‘good’? _

_ I suppose that myself asking these questions is a moot point, as I am to die on this here day for refusing to subscribe to a belief that I do not believe in and have never believed in. Apparently, belief in something that you cannot see or touch is more acceptable than belief in the here and now, the tangible, what one can grasp. I have seen evidence of science; I have not seen evidence of God, nor do I believe that I shall ever see such evidence. If before or after I die, I see something, perhaps my mind shall be changed, because then it shall become real.  _

_ But why should something become real only during the last moments of life? _

_ I believe that my body shall decompose in the ordinary fashion. I believe that the pauper’s grave that this scholar shall lie in will be shallow, so that animals will come into the graveyard and feast upon my flesh, and I am strangely fine with that. I don’t think that there is anything for me beyond this mortal coil. We all have our seasons, and the end of mine is coming.  _

_ Spencer Reid _

A rap came suddenly at Penelope’s door. 

“Yes?” she asked in query. 

The door swung open to reveal one of the Tower guards- Luke, his name was. Penelope had never caught his last name. “It is time,” he told her. “Before we escort you to Tower Green, I have to inform you that you have one last chance to live.” 

“What do you mean?” Penelope asked. 

Luke indicated the man to his right. “Sir Matthew has the parchment roll containing the Queen’s edict, a quill, and some ink,” he explained. “You have one last opportunity to sign it and swear your life to the Church of Rome, and be saved from the fate waiting for you on the Tower Green.” 

Penelope shook her head. “I will take the executioner, Sir Luke,” she said. “I am a daughter of the forest, and I will not renounce that for anything.” 

Luke gave her a curious look. “It is not too late, Lady Penelope,” he said. “Please sign it. You are still young, and surely you have a life ahead of you full of wonder and dreams. Faith in Christ Jesus can help you achieve your dreams.” 

“My dreams lay within the forest,” Penelope said firmly. “I will take the executioner.” 

Luke sighed heavily. “If you insist, Lady Penelope.” 

“I insist.” She held out her arms for the shackles from the man on Luke’s left. The cold iron surrounded her pale wrists and locked, and she internally winced. 

Maybe she told a white lie to her brother. Perhaps she  _ was  _ afraid to die. 

But she would never give up her true self or her forest. 

The knocking on Spencer’s door stirred him out of the book that he was reading. “Come in,” he bade.

The door opened to reveal Sir Luke, Sir Matthew, and another Tower Guard. 

“Lord Spencer,” Sir Luke said. “It is time. Before we escort you to Tower Green, I have to inform you that you have one last chance to live.” 

Spencer raised a brow. “And what is that?” he asked. 

Sir Luke nodded towards Sir Matthew. “Sir Matthew has a parchment roll containing the Queen’s edict, a quill, and some ink,” he explained. “You can sign it, swear your life to the Church of Rome, and be saved from the fate waiting for you on Tower Green.” 

Spencer looked straight at Sir Luke. “I will not lie in order to save my life,” he said. “To say that I believe in something that has yet to be proven as real and actually exists would be a detriment to my credibility as a scholar and myself as a man who believes in the sciences.” 

“Is your truth worth your death?” Sir Luke asked softly. 

Spencer shrugged as he continued to look straight at the older Tower guard. “If living and dying for the truth is one of the most ‘Christian’ things that someone can do, then why are you preventing me from doing that very thing?” he asked. “I am a scholar and I have never seen God, touched him, or experienced a miracle that science cannot explain. I have never believed. Why should I say that I do believe? Wouldn’t my life then be a lie and therefore a sin?” 

Sir Luke didn’t have an answer for him, and Spencer extended his wrists for his shackles. 

Lord Aaron Hotchner, a barrister of moderate success, and his wife, the Lady Emily Hotchner, stood among the rest of London near Tower Green. Jack, Aaron’s son from his first and deceased wife, was off enjoying games with other children. The adults munched on their breakfast as they waited for the executions to begin. They had signed the Queen’s edict with no problem and were faithful church attendees, although their attendance had been slim as of late due to a fever that had ran through their household. Jack was lucky to have survived. 

“I can see why some would refuse to sign the Queen’s edict,” Emily sighed as she finished her breakfast. “I’m not sure if being publicly executed is an effective deterrent, though. There are far too many who are willing to die for their beliefs.” 

“You’re not incorrect, Em,” Aaron said, dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief. The April heat was pleasant, but Aaron got hot easily and quickly. The stern faced barrister sighed. “But this is how the Queen has decided that they will be punished.” 

Emily nodded. “I know.” She looked out amongst the crowd. They had managed to get a decent place to watch, even though public executions made her queasy. She squinted in the direction of the executioner, who had yet to don his hood, and groaned in recognition. “We’re going to have a fun execution,” she said dryly, a note of pain in her voice. “Mr. Scratch is the executioner.” 

“Oh, for the love of St. George,” Aaron swore. 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” Emily admonished lightly. 

“He’s the worst executioner in the Queen’s employ,” Aaron said roughly. “Don’t you recall the last execution he was at?” 

“Oh, I recall,” Emily said with a shudder. “Perhaps that’s why he’s sharpening his sword.” 

“Perhaps,” Aaron said, wrapping a protective arm around his wife. 

All they had to do now is wait. 

Across Tower Green, towards where those who would be executed were going to be, Count David Rossi of Sicily sat with his servant, Derek. Count Rossi conducted a lot of business in London, meaning that he had a residence in London and they had just so happened to be in London for the execution. 

“Permission to speak?” Derek asked. 

“Granted, Derek,” David said, sipping on a glass of wine. 

“Why are these people being executed?” Derek further inquired, taking a drink of gin. It was cheaper than wine, and he preferred it. 

“The Queen of England has issued an edict, asking her subjects to return to the Church of Rome,” David explained. “Those who are being executed have refused to sign for that edict.” 

Derek looked at David. “Why did they refuse?” 

David shrugged. “Various reasons,” he said. “Some folks prefer the Church of England that King Henry- God rest his soul- had set up when the Queen was a young lady. Some of them have beliefs older than that that involve nature. And still others simply don’t believe.” 

Derek nodded. “So they’re being executed due to their beliefs or lack thereof?” 

David nodded. “You know that Italy does the same thing.” 

“So publicly, though?” Derek asked skeptically. “Your Grace, the only time I’ve seen Italy do an execution this publicly is when someone has been convicted of witchcraft.” 

“It’s more common in smaller regions,” David said. “Don’t you worry about it, Derek.” 

Derek nodded, sipping his gin as he looked at the executioner sharpening his sword. It sent a chill through him. He didn’t believe in any of that religion nonsense. He attended Mass and partook in Communion because it was expected of him as a member of his employer’s household. Life was too cruel for him to believe, and David knew that and understood it. Derek wished, that he had the Count’s faith, though.

David took a sip of his wine as he also looked over the executioner. He’s never cared much for executions, believing that they solved nothing and would only created martyrs for the cause that they died for. He also knew, as an educated man, that there was a way to reconcile the religion of Now, the religion of Then, and science. 

He would never publicly admit that, however. Not if he wanted to keep his lands, titles, and Derek. 

He eyed Derek for a moment and smiled to himself. For a man who does not believe in God, he sure calls out His name a lot.

Jennifer and William LaMontagne stood with their sons Henry and Michael among the back of the crowd on the Tower Green, looking towards the executioner’s block. 

“I feel sorry for these poor bastards,” William said as he rubbed Jennifer’s shoulder. “No wonder so many fled.” 

Jennifer nodded as she leaned into William’s embrace, holding Michael on her hip. “I agree, but watch your language, and your tongue,” she said. “The Queen has eyes and ears everywhere.” 

William gave a grumble and ruffled Henry’s hair. “You’re right,” he said. “We gotta think about the children.” 

They had signed the edict for themselves and their children, but they always had had a fierce sense about justice, which this was not. William was one of the local constables, and Jennifer’s own father had been one of the investigators for Scotland Yard before he passed away. The fact that these executions were simply there for show, as a way to establish the Queen’s authority, made the both of them sick. But they had their sons to think about. 

Perhaps one day, their sons can stop this injustice. 

Penelope started feeling like she was going to faint as she and the other five people who were to be executed with her were escorted out and towards the executioner’s block on Tower Green. They were made to line up in sets of two, and she fell in step beside a young lad- he couldn’t have been more than twenty- who had floppy chestnut hair and ink all over his fingers. 

“There’s so many people here to watch,” she whispered to him as she took in the large crowd. “Why?”

“The public spectacle of seeing someone else suffer is greatly documented throughout history,” the lad replied softly. “Perhaps it is a way for the mind to remind us that that is not ourselves and to be glad for it. Maybe it’s because seeing people being hurt and killed gives us a rush and makes us feel more alive. We’re given only a small portion of the picture, so who knows?” 

Penelope mulled this over in her mind as they walked and were tasked to stand near the platform. “You didn’t sign it either.” 

“I didn’t sign it because I don’t believe it. What faith we put in religion to explain things are simply things that science cannot explain yet,” the young man explained. “What about you?” 

Penelope chuckled. She liked him. He had a quirky way of speaking, intelligent, and steadfast in his beliefs. “I still follow the old ways.” 

The young man nodded, his gaze going slightly unfocused. “Nature deserves to be worshipped.” 

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m Lady Penelope.” 

“Lord Spencer,” he replied. 

The first victim of the blade stepped forward, unshackled and trembling. He kneeled before the executioner. 

The heraldsman made his speech and asked for the first man’s last words. 

“Why do you think we’re made to be killed for what we believe?” Penelope asked Spencer. 

“Because this is a cruel world where if you’re not of the majority, you’re the enemy,” Spencer said simply. “Because those of us who dare dream and hope for more, for a better understanding and a different viewpoint of the world are considered dangerous and must be taken care of. Perhaps it is a strange sort of calling, as we are called to our professions, but it’s a calling from within our subconscious. It is the call to be true to yourself and never back down.” 

Penelope smiled at that and she laid a gentle hand in his, drawing from his strength. “I wish that we could have known each other in this life,” she said. “I feel as though we would have been friends.” 

Spencer gave a shrug and squeezed her hand softly. “It is entirely possible.” He looked up at the sky and smiled softly. They took their own comforts in each other as they ignored the three being executed before them. 

“Lord Spencer,” Sir Luke said suddenly. “You’re next.” 

Spencer removed his hand from Penelope’s and lifted his wrists for his chains to be undone. Penelope impulsively leaned up and kissed his cheek before saying a prayer under her breath to help guide Spencer’s soul to where it needed to go. 

Spencer blinked and blushed from the kiss, but gave her a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek in reply before he made his way to the executioner’s block. 

“On this here day the eighteenth of April in the year of our Lord 1556, Lord Spencer Reid of York is to be executed by beheading for refusing to sign the Queen’s edict to return to the Church of Rome,” the heraldsman announced as Spencer approached and kneeled before the block. “Do you have any last words, Lord Spencer?” 

Spencer thought for a moment, but then he gave a shrug. “If your God says that I am to die believing in him, know that I choose to disbelieve that and believe in the beastlike nature of mankind instead, for you killing me for my beliefs in public is no different than you killing me in my own home for my possessions.” 

A stunned silence followed as all of London took in his words. The priest on the stand looked chagrined, but motioned for the execution to proceed. 

“I therefore announce you to be executed. May God have mercy on your soul.” 

Spencer felt the blindfold be placed on him before he was enveloped into darkness. He was then guided down to have his neck resting in the groove of the chopping block. He let out a breath and relaxed. 

Penelope watched in mild horror at the sight before her, knowing that she was next. Truth be told, she’d rather be hung or even burned at the stake than have her body separated in such a violent manner. She smiled at Spencer’s final words and watched. 

The sword came up, and the sword came down, and the crowd cheered. Women surged forward, eager to get the fresh blood of an executed person, believing in magical and supposed healing properties. 

Penelope shuddered at those thoughts. If only those people knew what the price of using blood magick was. 

“Lady Penelope,” Sir Luke said. “It’s your turn.” 

Penelope sighed as her shackles were undone. She rolled out her shoulders and started making her way up to the executioner. 

She wanted to bolt. She wanted to run, all of her courage leaving her as she witnessed them tossing Spencer’s head and body into a nearby wooden casket with a casualness that alarmed her. 

But then, the spring breeze wrapped around her, the sun shone a little brighter. She lifted her gaze to the sky, noticing the murder of crows above, and listened with her soul and not her ears. 

_ Come join us, my daughter. It is time.  _

She made her way over to the executioner’s block and kneeled in front of it, her courage returning. She was glad that she was going to be blindfolded, because then she wouldn’t be tempted to turn her head to watch. 

“On this here day, the eighteenth of April in the year of our Lord 1556, Lady Penelope Garcia of Limerick is to be executed by beheading for refusing to sign the Queen’s edict to return to the Church of Rome. Do you have any last words, Lady Penelope?” 

Penelope considered what she wanted to say before smiling to herself. What better way to go than to curse these people who didn’t have empathy for their fellow humans? It wasn’t something that she had the habit of doing, but she didn’t care now. Spencer had given her the strength to speak out one last time with his words. 

“May the blood that you have gathered here today be spoiled,” she said calmly, “and may those of you who take delight in the suffering of others and the death of others be barren thrice over.” 

There was a lot of angry muttering, at that, but Penelope didn’ back down. There were calls for her to be burned at the stake for witchcraft. She saw the priest do a sign of the cross and she smirked softly.  _ Good.  _

The crowd was silenced as the blindfold was placed over Penelope’s eyes and she was guided forward to rest her neck on the block. She just laid there, tense and defiant. She couldn’t wait to be returned to the Earth, now. 

The sword went up, and the sword came down. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Twitter: @Alendra_Dragon
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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